Falls The Shadow
by Loopylou
Summary: An old foe of Lara's needs her to recover an artifact... and will use any means to ensure her cooperation.


Falls The Shadow

_"The gates of hell are always open, even at midnight."_

Slovak Proverb

Chapter One

Somewhere in the big old house, a clock struck, telling the sleeping occupants that it was two in the morning. When the chimes died away, the house was silent, waiting for morning to come back to life. A sudden, sharp movement outside one of the windows drew no attention, from the security system or the people sleeping inside. Down the long, winding gravel driveway, out by the road, the main power cable lay severed. The back up generator was equally dead, cables leading into the house cut and useless. Light autumn rain started to fall, the air filtering through the slightly open windows quickly taking on the smell of damp, rich earth. Shadows moved across the windows, looming large against the tasteful cream drapes. They were lit only by the small, powerful torches that they carried and the scarce ambient light.

The window slid open silently, admitting a team of hushed, skilful men. They moved out of the room quickly, the last one closing the window behind himself. They crept up the stairs, each heading off in separate directions. They spread out, covering every inch of the expansive hallway with the silent, waiting automatic weapons that they carried. One man, obviously the leader of the group, broke away from the rest, stopping outside a heavy wooden door. He laid a hand on it, as gently as a lover would touch his partner. A twisted smile made his face dance under the scant light. He was tall and well built, muscles evident even under the bulky clothing he wore. His eyes gleamed, madness and brilliance lighting them with equal measure. He was very good at what he did, and he enjoyed it. Not many men could say that they truly revelled in inflicting pain on their fellow humans.

"This one's mine." He whispered gleefully, twisting the handle in his spare hand. The other carried a heavy bag, filled with the tools of his trade; death. He made no noise as he crept along the hallway, that slight, sick smile still on his face. He waited so very long for this job and now it was being given to him on a platter. It was almost too good to be true. Nothing could spoil this night for him, nothing.

The closed bedroom door appeared quickly in front of him and he instinctively speeded up. He paused outside of it, savouring the anticipation. He was looking forward to this. From his pocket, he pulled out a loaded syringe, pulling the cap off with his teeth. He spat it onto the floor, not caring where it went. Opening the door, he stepped boldly in, flicking the lights on as he went. He wasn't scared of the tomb raider. He flicked his eyes around the room, surprised at how exact the blueprints he'd stolen had been. The room's large main window was ajar, letting in the soft scent of damp earth and grass. He felt like every sense was on high; smells were stronger, colours richer, touch more intense.

She woke more slowly than he'd expected, giving him time to admire the silk pyjamas that she wore. To his surprise, the silk was pale, not black like he'd expected. The thin straps drew his eyes to her shoulders. He felt himself licking his lips, eyes drawn to the pale, unmarked skin on her back. She slept on her side, facing away from the door. It was easy to step over to the bed, rest his weight on top of her and inject the contents of the syringe into the flesh of her upper arm. She struggled under him, but stood no chance of moving his weight from her back. He snatched the deadly knife from under her pillow, throwing it across the room. His knee was planted firmly in the centre of her spine. He rolled off the bed, freeing her. Instinctively, she threw her arm up towards him. He batted it away, hitting her thumb with the large gold ring her wore. It was an ugly piece, passed down in his family through the male line. Blood ran from her nail, dripping onto the bedclothes.

He stepped away from the bed, knowing it would take mere seconds for the liquid to work. Settling back into the shadows, he watched her writhe on the bed as it took effect. His delight grew ever stronger as the drug forced a moan from her. He knew exactly how she would be feeling, and it only served to enhance his pleasure. He imagined the fire burning through her veins, spreading through those well toned muscles like a warm knife through ice. Imagined the taste of copper, growing ever stronger in her mouth. Could almost feel her muscles growing weak and slack as the drug worked. He couldn't take his eyes off her, transfixed as she fought the drug. While he wasn't scared of the tomb raider, it paid to be careful. The drug would weaken her, ensuring his safety. It was also designed to cause her a great deal of pain. He had created it, especially for her.

She struggled to get free of the blanket's restraining grip as she thrashed. She twisted her body, throwing the blankets back, forcing herself back against the wall. Somehow, she managed to get upright. She leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, gasping at the sensation that was overwhelming her. Her hands clenched the Egyptian cotton sheets as she fought to breathe normally. Head tilted back, she closed her eyes, tightly, blocking out the world. Tears quickly fought they way past her eyelids, running down her cheeks, mixing with the perspiration already there. She struggled to sit forward, body numb to her commands. She felt herself slipping sideways, deciding at the last moment to give into the movement.

Darkness engulfed her, taking away the pain for a few long minutes. She let herself drift, not unconscious, but not really aware of her surroundings either. Her eyes stayed closed, breathing shallow but regular. A few strands of her hair lay across her face, annoying her, but she couldn't summon the strength or coordination to move them. She could feel the bunched fabric of her pillow under her face, rough but soft at the same time. She lost track of how long she laid like that. The room was growing chilly, and she felt goose bumps rise on her bare arms.

A harsh, barked laugh drew her attention and once again, she struggled into a sitting position, leaning heavily in the corner, where the bed's headboard met the wall. The mere job of getting upright had exhausted her, and she found herself panting heavily. It was slowly dawning on her that something was very, very wrong. Her head felt fuzzy and light, like it was packed full of cotton. She glanced down at her hands, slowly taking in scraped knuckles, and bloodstained nails. Her thumb nail was broken and black, throbbing slightly with her every heartbeat. She felt like her lungs had been sandblasted, every breath a sharp, stabbing pain, no matter how she drew air into her body.

"What…?" She started to ask. Her body felt strange, as if all the parts had been disconnected and not put together properly. The was some vague pain, but it felt distant and un-connected to her. Her head was throbbing faintly, her pulse loud in her ears. The quiet of the night made it sound even louder.

She didn't get to finished the question. A immensely strong hand locked suddenly around her jaw, dragging her head around to face its owner. She tried to twist away from the pressure, and found it impossible. She bit her lip badly as the hand clamped even tighter. Her bottom jaw felt like it was going to break in half. Raising her hands, she swung a couple of blows at her aggressor. They seemed to amuse him. Smiling, he grabbed her wrists, easily holding both of them in one hand. Squeezing, he gave her a quick and painful demonstration of his strength. He released the pressure as she gasped. She guessed that he thought she had learned her lesson; he was too strong for her to fight in the condition she was in.

"So you're awake once again, Ms Croft." The owner of the hand said, voice silky, soft and deadly. "Do try to stay with us this time; my associates would really hate it if I damaged you any more."

The hand around her jaw loosened slightly, letting her speak. "Who are you working for?" She snapped, "And what are you doing here?"

"Ah, Ms Croft, it's rude to forget one's guests." He said, voice taking a playful edge that she didn't like one bit.

A dark memory started to surface, and she felt herself tense. A dark street, lashed with rain. A blow to her neck, sending her sprawling headlong into the road. The desperate fight for her life, against this very man. She'd spared him then, and now wished she hadn't been so merciful. He felt the change in her, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Why are you here?" She asked, voice low, taut.

"I came to collect on a debt. You owe me, Lara. It's time to pay."

"I spared you life; isn't that enough?" She asked. He forced a pained cry from her, squeezing her jaw tight enough to bruise all the way to the bone. Come morning, she'd have a set of spectacular black bruises.

Keeping hold of her jaw, he forced her head back until it was against the wall, her neck at an awkward angle. It hurt, and it showed on her face. She moved her eyes, seeking to avoid his gaze. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing she was in pain.

"Still so very honourable, I see, Lara." He said it with such sneering contempt that she drew back slightly. She couldn't answer him.

Letting go of her face, he stepped away from the bed, hand going to the mike at his throat. He spoke, eyes fixed on Lara. "Bring the others in."

In less than a minute, the room was swarming with people. The full team had drawn back to the bedroom, the last two members brining Zip and Alister with them. They had both been beaten, and stood stiffly, their hands cuffed behind their backs. Alister looked faintly shell shocked, glancing around the room like it was all some bad dream. Zip, blood trickling down his face from some unseen wound, glared at the team with barely disguised hatred, mouth compressed into a tight line.

Lara forced herself to move, almost falling as her muscles showed just how weak they had become. She made it to the edge of the bed, leaning against the headboard weakly. She wanted to ask her team-mates if they were alright, but some instinct stopped her. She focused on the ring leader instead, glaring at him. The thing silk of her night clothes offered little warmth, and she shivered in the chill of the cooling air.

"What do you want, William?" She asked warily, eyeing the team. She'd faced better odds; she didn't think she'd faced worse. She didn't fancy her chances against ten heavily armed men, but she'd take them if she had no other choice. Still leaning against the headboard, she let herself sag a little more, hoping to convince them she was weaker than she actually was.

"I _want _what you owe me." He said, "I want the Berlin Stone back."

"I don't have it." She told him truthfully, "It was useless; I donated it to the British Museum." She felt Alister's shocked glance in her direction and willed him to be quiet. All three of them knew that the Berlin Stone lay protected in her cellar, locked away so it could do no harm. Luckily, William was to occupied by her to see her companion's reactions, a fact for which she was eternally grateful.

He hit her, a vicious backhand that split the skin on her cheek. She raised her hand, touching the wound with two fingers. They came back covered in bright red blood. "You idiot!" He hissed, hitting her again. She made no move to stop him, perpetuating the image that she was too weak to move. That ugly gold ring gashed her forehead, letting blood drip into her eyes. He struck her a third time, rocking her head sideways into the solid wood of the headboard. Instantly, her head started to ache, eyes growing blurry with double vision. She grunted, shaking her head, hoping to clear it.

Alister glanced at Zip, who shrugged as best he could. Both men wore similar, distressed looks. Both were extremely angry, close to loosing their frayed tempers. It was abhorrent, having to stand there and watch Lara be beaten. Tentatively, Alister spoke. "What is the Berlin Stone? I've never heard of it." He asked, addressing Lara. The armed mad at his side raised his gun, stock ready for another blow.

"The Berlin Stone is a small amulet, made from Obsidian, carved in the shape of a Lion's head. It's rumoured to have magical properties, but I never found out what they were. It dates back to the fifteen hundreds or so." She said, tone as bored as she could make it. Her head was still ringing, and the ache had settled in deep behind her eyes.

William glared at her again. "Fool!" He said contemptuously, "You're slipping, Lara." He scolded, head tilted as he seized the opportunity to lecture her for once. "The Berlin Stone is much more than that. Any man to posses it…"

Zip cut in sarcastically, "Will what? Get to rule the world, live forever, have endless riches? Have I missed anything?"

"It does all that, and more. When reunited with the body, the stone will allow me to enter the realm of heaven. I'll have total power over everything… over creation itself!"

Lara felt a moment of utter panic. The rumours she'd heard about the Berlin Stone were true. It really did give one the power to control everything. She fought her panic back, instead focusing on the man in front of her.

"You want me to find it, I suppose." She said tiredly. "The body, that is."

"I know where it is." He said smugly. "The place is a death trap. I thought you'd feel right at home."

"No." She said simply. "I won't do your dirty work for you." She paused, narrowing her eyes, and asked. "So, how many teams have you lost trying to retrieve it?" Her voice was mocking, condescending almost.

He waved his hand as if her question was of little importance to him. As if the deaths of his men was unimportant, below consideration or thought. "Enough to know that I need you to recover the body for me."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. The whole night was absurd. "I won't help you." She told him, her laughter quickly dying away.

A strange gleam lit his eyes. "Oh,


End file.
